Fragile
by buganeer
Summary: Aaron Hotchner isn't feeling well, but his pride won't let him take a break. Just a short little story, a little fluffy but hopefully not too bad.


_"There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts. " - Neil Gaiman_

The room was pitch black, the wind was howling, and Aaron Hotchner was awake. He lay in his bed, right hand pressed tightly over his right eye, willing the throbbing to stop. It was 2am, and he had to be up for work in 3 hours, but right now he couldn't even imagine living that long. He'd been getting cluster headaches since his early twenties, but somehow, he seemed to always forget the pain between occurrences. He couldn't even remember when he'd had them last, it felt like years. He no longer had a prescription for his meds, so he'd have to suffer through this onset and hope it didn't last long. He pushed harder on his eye, which relieved the pain there but brought on what felt like electrical shocks through his head. He groaned and released the pressure, feeling nausea wash over him. He was glad that Jack was with Jessica this week, at the beach on Spring Break. Humanity, in all its frailness, was something Hotch loathed more than anything and he constantly tried to pretend he wasn't afflicted by any of it. He figured people either bought the ruse, or decided to just let him keep up the farce rather than argue.

When the pain finally subsided, it was time for him to get ready for work. He knew, if his pattern was as usual, he'd have no less than three more while he was at work. These headaches were predictable, if nothing else.

As he was getting ready to walk out his door, his phone began vibrating. He checked the number – BAU. Not a good sign.

"SSA Hotchner, "he began.

"Hotch, it's Rossi. We're being called away on a case in San Antonio immediately, grab your go bag before you head in."

Aaron closed his eyes and sighed. This was not at all what he had been hoping for. He contemplated telling Rossi he wasn't going to be able to fly, but without a doctor's note, he'd have a weak case if anything happened and he was ever questioned about his absence.

"Dave, I," he began, feeling the tingling sensation in his right hand already. Another headache was coming, and it would be in full force just about the time the plane lifted off.

"Yes?" Rossi asked, an air of concern in his voice. He was always concerned, and he could read his friend like an open book. "What is it, Aaron?" There it was. He pulled out the first name, he knew something was wrong.

"I'm fine. It's nothing," he lied. Generally, he was a good liar, he was a lawyer after all. His guard was down, however, when he didn't feel well and he knew it wasn't his best effort. His stomach turned as he closed and locked the door behind him, go bag in hand.

"Nothing?" Rossi prodded, but Hotch was already in his car now. He squeezed his hand tight against the tingling and closed his eyes, willing his stomach to settle. He hoped he could make it to the airport before the real pain hit.

"I'm fine, Dave. I'm on my way."

* * *

"Hotch?"

Aaron opened his left eye and squinted at Morgan, who was leaning toward him in his seat. They'd been in the air about an hour now, and Hotch was trying to sleep through the throbbing in his head. The headache was in full force, and amplified by cabin pressure. His Neurologist would have a fit if he knew Aaron was flying during a cluster, and he made a mental note to leave this out of the next visit to avoid being chastised over his blatant stupidity and pride issues.

"Yes?" he murmured softly, hoping Morgan would take the hint and let him sleep. Of course, he wasn't asleep, no one could sleep through someone stabbing an ice pick through their skull, but he was a master pretender.

"You don't look so good. You sure you're alright?"

"Fine, just tired. Busy weekend." Hotch sighed and closed his eye again, trying to relax into the cushy seat. His hands were clammy, his stomach was churning, and his head was throbbing from the pressure in the cabin. Morgan sat back in his chair and watched his boss carefully, but thought better of opening his mouth again for a while.

"Hey Hotch?"

Hotch sighed again, this time opening both eyes. The light was painful, and he nearly threw up from the sudden movement. Bad idea. He swallowed, his throat was tight and dry but it seemed to help. "Yes?" he asked, clearly agitated.

"Sorry. Didn't realize you were sleeping. I'll talk to you about it later…" It was Reid. Poor Reid lacked much in the arena of social awareness, but even he could clearly see his boss was in distress and he should not have disturbed him.

"It's ok Reid. What is it?" Hotch sat up and attempted to straighten himself up. The stabbing pain was going away slowly, leaving behind only the massive pressure and nausea, neither of which was going anywhere if the plane was in the air. He could push through this.

"I was just thinking about the case, that's all. It's probably nothing. I'll go run it by someone else."

"Reid, you already woke me up. What's on your mind?" He proceeded to give Reid as much of his attention as he could, letting the young man ramble on and on. His theories were solid, and Hotch was trying to take them all in, but what he really marveled at was how the sound of Reid's voice was almost calming, which was absurd in itself. He felt his body relax into his seat as he listened, and though he still felt like roadkill, it was probably the best he'd felt all day.

* * *

"Aaron, let's share a cab to the hotel, "Rossi said from behind Hotch as he grabbed Hotch's go-bag from his hand. They were the last members of the team to leave the police station for the night. It was hot and dry outside, and the moon was huge. Aaron feigned an attempt at grabbing his bag back, but he knew it was no use. He'd been all but useless most of the day, having had four more debilitating episodes. The team didn't seem to notice, or was too kind to say anything, and they all more than made up for his dead weight.

"Sure," he said, clearly exhausted. As they both slid into the cab, Aaron leaned his head back and shut his eyes against the motion of the car. The pain was gone, but the feeling he'd throw up had been with him all day and the Texas heat wasn't helping. He hadn't eaten anything all day, and didn't see that changing any time soon.

"You going to tell me what's going on, or am I going to have to pry it out of you?" Rossi finally said, breaking the silence. Hotch shrugged and put his hand to his forehead, gently massaging his eyebrows. His face was sore, like he'd been in a boxing match, but more than anything he was simply tired.

"Cluster headaches. I've had them since college, it's not a big deal. I usually just take something and it's fine, but I haven't had one in a very long time so I never refilled my last prescription…" his voice trailed off as he adjusted in his seat. "I'll be fine in the morning."

"Can you be sure?" Rossi asked, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. Aaron recoiled slightly at the touch, but settled into it after a moment. Rossi didn't move. "Can you really be sure?"

"No. I suppose not. I've been having them more than twenty years and they've never lasted more than one day. Just believing in the profile I guess. "

Dave chuckled, and Aaron smiled for the first time that day.


End file.
